Part One – An Egregious Offense –
“Saul Vilens, your transport is ready at hub sixty-five-F. Thank you for flying Solar Spaceways,” an automated system told a tall, thin man. The mechanical voice emanated from the scratched blue wristband he wore.
Vilens did not respond, continuing to stare down through the transparent shield that protected him from the swirling mass below that was the gas giant Jupiter. His white hands grasped a metallic green safety bar that lined the matching walkway, and his pale face was emotionless. His unblinking eyes were wide set and faint blue, his nose broad and flat. His large head was topped with close-cropped yellow hair, a conspicuous color afforded him by implants in his follicles. He wore a faded, threadbare green robe to hide a small blaster up his right sleeve and another on his hip with a sheathed vibrating knife in his boot. He did not anticipate any trouble on the trip he was about to take, but the weapons were tools of his trade that he rarely went without. His gaze was fixed on the moving lines of the solar system’s largest planet with a fervent desire to turn away and never see them again.
The planet filled the entire bottom half of his vison, like a unique, chaotic sub-floor just out of reach. He would have to go to the other side of the hub to see the stars or any one of Jupiter’s moons. That was where his brother Fiddle was, staring at the black expanse, but for the moment Vilens liked watching the planets swirling patterns and stripes. He felt as though he was escaping an enormous monster, a thing of unparalleled danger waiting for any to fall into its gravitational grasp. He cared little for stars, including the one at the center of the solar system. As a child living in caverns deep below the surface of Mars, he was told stories of the sun, but only believed out of a sense of obligation for those teaching him. He did not see starlight until he was an adult, swept out of his cozy subterranean world into the vast solar system. He considered a giant ball of radioactive fire much as he viewed the gas giant below, as a monster to be avoided.
The small station he was on was part of a transportation network, a line of boxes floating between the gravitational pulls of Jupiter and its moons, where ships could safely reach. Farther below, closer to the deadly surface of the planet, hexagonal atmosphere mines rode along in the gravitational wake, slurping away at the abundant gas in greedy revelry. The living quarters for the atmosphere miners and their families were built into the structures like floating palaces, clean living spaces and wealth that bought opulent luxuries and professional defenses. Two earth years ago he was forced off Mars and assigned to one of the mines called Enigma Jupiter. The locals insisted on using the full name every time, no shortenings, as they would say in disgust.
Vilens could see one of the floating mines between him and a swirling mass, its firm lines and geometric shape letting it easily stand out against the twisting currents of the planet. He had learned many things since he arrived at Enigma Jupiter. One thing was about the force fields that allowed human civilization to thrive in the deadly void of space. The same type of shield that protected the surface cities from the harsh environment of Mars protected the mines and many ships travelling between them from the enormous radioactive and magnetic forces spiraling out from Jupiter. The force fields worked much like the atmosphere of a planet, with layers of moving particles intercepting and deflecting harmful particles, but as they said in the caves of Mars, accidents keep the population down.
Sometimes the insatiable forces rolling in Jupiter’s wake shook the mines, making the natives laugh, but Vilens despised it, admitting to himself it terrified him. It was the year 2354 and the atmosphere mines had been in operation for over a century. In that time twelve mines lost orbit stability and were swallowed by Jupiter, ground away to dust in the titanic flows. There was nothing to salvage, no way to know what had happened. The Jupitons accepted it, considering it no more dangerous than living anywhere else in the system, but every shudder that ran through the artificial floor of Enigma Jupiter made Vilens more desperate to leave. The same officials that forced him away from Risky Rock, Mars and so close to the gas giant told his people they had to stay where they were put for two years. Then they could leave, although they could never return to Mars. Most of the Martians had decided to stay at the mines, although a few claimed they would move on at some point. Vilens was on the first shuttle he could get. If this was what life had thrown at him, fine, he could find a way to prosper again, but not here on Jupiter. It was time to leave.
He felt a familiar tug on his arm and turned to see Fiddle grinning back at him with his energetic smile that lifted his spirits. Fiddle was a head shorter than Vilens’ six-foot six frame, and his skin was light brown. His straight black hair, tied in pigtails to give him a younger appearance, was long and silky, the ends hanging down to his shoulders. Fiddle was wearing his regular dark blue long-sleeved coat, under which he would only ever wear a corset, a short frilly white skirt that reached midway down his thighs, bright violet leggings, and small ankle high shoes, blue to match his jacket.
“Come on, Vilens, our ride is ready,” Fiddle said and hooked a thumb over his shoulder.
Still young at thirty, Vilens’ limbs were long and firm, and his training since childhood meant he knew how to use every bit of his body. He was born on Mars, not at Risky Rock, but at one of the casinos on the surface, which one he had forgotten. His mother was a prostitute and since he was old enough to walk, he was trained in the ways of combat to protect his mother and siblings, which included the rest of the brothel. Vilens had found he was exceptionally good at it.
His mother had moved to Risky Rock with him when he was still an infant, and done well until Earthlings raided the city. The conquering process was initially painless, waking up from a deep sleep to find two agents in his small room at a holding facility, ready to take him to his new home on Jupiter. When the displaced Martians were crowded together on shuttles, he and Fiddle had found each other, but no one else from their families. Fiddle held out hope that they would find them near Jupiter, but Vilens did not share it.
When they had arrived at their new home, they found they were the only two from Risky Rock. They inquired about their family and friends, and were told that the millions of missing Martians had been relocated to the sparsely populated Triton Towers orbiting Neptune. Immediately Fiddle demanded they start saving, turning tricks while Vilens kept an eye on the money and broke the arm of any other Martians his brother gave a bad report on. It was the business they were born to on Mars. The Jupitons were friendly, but kept their distance. Those that did succumb to Fiddle’s charms paid and behaved well, but the fact that they were Martian refugees was never forgotten.
Enough credits were finally accumulated to buy passage to Neptune, though Vilens knew it was a hopeless search. He did not know what he would find at the massive towers anchored into the surface of the moon Triton, but it would not be his people. He had plenty of time to investigate on Enigma Jupiter, and discovered the only thing the Martians there had in common with each other was Earth-born genetics. Vilens knew that his father was an Earthling, and Fiddle’s birth mother was one too, although she abandoned the boy with his Martian father at age two and vanished. Digging deeper, Vilens learned about genetic quality standards from the Big Sis and what happened to those that did not meet with approval, such as full blood Martians. It still burned in his mind, an egregious offense, that his loved ones had been cleansed as genetic impurities, but there was nothing he could do. They were gone.
Fiddle gave him a grin and skipped forward, leading the way up the connecting tube to their ride. Vilens had not told his sibling and business partner the truth about what happened to their community. There was no point. He would find out soon enough.
The hub was sparsely inhabited, with three other passengers heading for the same transport as them. Luggage was moved automatically from the hub to their craft.
The first passenger was something he had rarely seen, an obese woman with a tight onesie of red and silver diamond shapes stretched over her flaps of flesh. Her wide legs ended in tiny red platform heel shoes. On top of her head was a tall bundle of bright silver hair, and a smile was permanently plastered on her round face. Travelling alone to a remote place like Neptune was odd enough, but the woman carried no baggage or other clothing. Moving as though she was continually catching her balance, she lumbered in line behind Vilens, the top of her silver hair even with his, and he could not tell if she was breathing or not.
The other two passengers in front of Fiddle looked remarkably similar. They were the same height, wore black suits with firm, square shoulders and straight, loose-fitting sleeves and pants. Their hair was straight, as dark as their clothes, and cut at equal length under their ears. Strangely, they wore gold goggles, including the lenses, and their dark attire made their beige skin look lighter by contrast. Vilens could tell by the way they looked and interacted silently with each other that they were communicating with brain-comps. Although the messages between the black clad passengers were silent and personal, they often looked at each other and nodded or gestured.
When Vilens first heard about brain computers on Enigma Jupiter, he instantly wanted one, but most people had theirs implanted at one year old. The benefits of brain-comps were enormous, and he watched the Jupitons live a separate existence from the one he and the other Martians experienced. What he had to do with hand-held devices, a brain-comp did with thought, accessing the Big Sis, or Solar System Information Service as it was formally known, that spread throughout the entire solar system, even to far distant places in the Kuiper Belt. Having a brain-comp implanted would be expensive, and raising the funds just for a trip to the Triton Towers was difficult enough. No matter the cost, he and Fiddle had to acquire brain-comps. He was told by the few Jupitons he managed to befriend that they were not real people without computerized brains.
Vilens crossed over with the retractable tunnel connecting the hub and the transport. Through the other end of the embarking tube he found the ship was large enough to hold a hundred people. The main compartment, which was a neutral cream color, had two columns of seats with an aisle down the middle and on either side. Lining the walls next to the seats were round windows with their covers closed. The pilot was sitting in her rotating chair at the front of the vessel. Although the ship was directed from one place to another by a limited artificial intelligence, her job was to monitor the automated devices and take direct control in case of a crisis. For long trips into space, the passengers could all connect to the Big Sis while their bodies rested in a sleep state. Their minds could play games in solo or group sessions, and the pilot was encouraged to participate as part of the entertainment.
“You’re from Mars?” the pilot asked the brothers. She had pale skin like Vilens and her hair was white, shaped into spikes on her scalp. She wore a bronze pilot’s coat and tight blue leggings over ankle high yellow boots.
Vilens nodded and said, “They shipped us out to Jupiter, but the pleasure mines weren’t for us.”
Fiddle took a seat at the front of the vessel, closest to the pilot’s chair and said with a broad smile, “I heard there’s games!”
“I’m Hickle,” the pilot said and held out her hand. Vilens touched the back of his hand to hers, a gesture repeated with Fiddle along with their names while the other three passengers found their seats without speaking to anyone.
Hickle leaned back in her chair and spoke with a professional tone. “You’ll find headsets under the seats that will allow you to connect to the Big Sis. They were made for . . . Martians that don’t have brain-comps.” She glanced at them, and he could tell the pilot was about to say something else.
Vilens and Fiddle found their headsets, circular pieces of uncomfortable metal that fit poorly over the eyes, and he noticed Hickle did not use one.
“You have a brain-comp?” he asked.
She nodded with a smile. “Had one installed last year. I needed it. It makes a big difference.” She motioned to the ship around her.
“Where can I get one?” he asked, more fervent than he intended.
She looked at him in alarm, perhaps intimidated by his tone, but said, “You’re going to the Triton Towers. You can find one there.”
Vilens thought about pressing her further but decided against it. With a curt nod he put the headset on, grimacing at the uncomfortable way it sat on the bridge of his nose. He had used devices like this on Enigma Jupiter, but those were better designed. He could still hear what was happening in the transport, but it was muffled, as though coming from another room. All was dark under the headset at first, but a pinprick of light grew in his vision until he was staring at a wall of glowing squares, a catalogue of possible games. Merely thinking about moving left or right shifted the wall appropriately and brought up other options. He could converse with Fiddle through the headsets, and they debated on what they wanted to try first.
The door of the ship slid closed, and the seal of the embarking tube released it to retract into the hub. The ship departed for Triton, and the network of games began. Vilens found himself having fun with Fiddle at his side, cavorting through various games with Hickle as their guide. The backgrounds changed with the levels, from historic reenactments to fanciful electronic worlds of bright colors, but the plot of the games remained the same. The point was to step on action squares that granted abilities designed to help them accomplish the next part of the level. Their game avatars looked like their real bodies, but they could alter their outfits into any they desired. The other three passengers did not join or send offers to them. Meals were distributed in tubes as a sweet slurry paste, but since it allowed him to continue playing, he did not mind the poor food. Bathroom breaks were handled with discreet warnings from the ship that monitored his vital signs. The proper facilities were located at the rear of the cabin behind discreet sliding doors.
Four hours into the trip, the ship shuddered violently and Hickle froze in the process of leaping onto a lit square to claim a prize.
“Space it, not again!” the pilot screamed and disappeared.
Vilens disconnected from the network and pulled his headset off as the ship rocked even more violently. Automated restraining fields kept them in their seats.
“Hang on, we’re being robbed,” Hickle declared with a glance over her shoulder. Minutes passed in silence while the other passengers, and Fiddle, continued to stay connected on the network and did not respond. Vilens watched Hickle, but she sat motionless, all her concentration taken by piloting the vessel.
Suddenly the fat woman sat up and waddled out of her seat. She walked quickly up the aisle to the front and a seam opened under her chin that continued down to her crotch. Vilens watched in fascinated disbelief, for a second expecting blood and organs to come gushing out. Instead inside was a compartment with a small man, grinning and holding a blaster pistol. The stranger leaned out of his odd hiding place. His dark hair hung down his face, and his wide eyes were focused on the pilot.
Before Vilens could open his mouth to warn Hickle, the man fired, sending a bolt of scarlet energy burning through her torso. Her body stiffened, and she froze up, not moving a bit, although a pitiful gasp of pain shuddered out of her. Vilens stood up, touched his belt with his left hand, and his small blaster sped from the sleeve of his robe to his waiting right. Before he could fire a shot, the man in the false woman fired again, burning another bolt through Hickle’s body. This time she slumped forward in her seat, smoke rising from the scorched wounds on her corpse.
Vilens fired into the side of the man’s side, burning a hole through it. With a startled expression, Hickle’s killer fell from the compartment, dead. The false obese woman deflated and collapsed next to him. The strange suit was completely soft, with no stiff parts, yet he would have sworn this was a living person only a few minutes ago. He heard Fiddle giggle behind him, still engaged in the game.
The other two passengers noticed what happened and came forward, stepping over the woman suit and the dead assassin with a calm that spoke of familiarity.
“What is this?” Vilens blurted out. Certain that the threat was over, he returned the small blaster to the slide under his sleeve.
One of the black clad pair looked down at the small, dead man while the other answered with an odd, hollow sounding voice. “Space piracy. An infiltrator sneaks on board to kill the pilot and take control to steal this transport back to wherever they’re from. Once there they’ll cut the ship up to sell for parts or use them to fix their own rides.”
“What about us?” Vilens dared to ask. He looked closely from one face to the other, but could not tell if they were male or female. The strange gold goggles obscured their eyes, making it difficult for him to determine their emotional state.
“I am Jeremy Dandelinits,” the one on the right said.
“I am Michael Dandelinits,” said the left one in identical tone.
“We are the Dandelinits,” they said together.
Jeremy said, “We will negotiate for our freedom and at some point, we will make it out to Neptune to do our job.”
Michael said, “You two will most likely be killed or captured and turned into meat-puppets. Then they will recycle your parts, much like the ship.”
Vilens had heard the term ‘meat-puppet’ before. It was a process where an enslaved person was fitted with a neural rig that took away all their body control. Customers would pay to link up and use the slave however they wanted. A meat-puppet would obey every command from the customer, could still feel everything just like it was happening to their body, but there would be nothing they could do to stop it. Most free-thinking people considered it a fate worse than death.
“They do this to people?” Vilens asked. He looked helplessly around the interior of the ship. “Isn’t there anything we can do?”
Jeremy replied, “You killed the infiltrator, so we can direct this ship now, but the problem is what to do with the pirate ship somewhere out there.”
Michael said, “Undoubtedly, it will have weapons it can use to destroy us rather than have us report their activity in this area. This craft has no weapons, and the force field will not hold out for long against a concentrated attack.”
Jeremy said, “The pirate ship has contacted us. As we anticipated, they are from Narsinyx.”
“What’s that?” Vilens asked.
Michael told him, “A city on a once prosperous asteroid, shipping vital water to all parts of the solar system. The water ran out and now it is a near-dead rock, mostly abandoned except for the unfortunate descendants of those who could not leave under their own power.”
Vilens’ mind began to spin at the possibilities of such a place. “The asteroid belt is on the other side of Jupiter. This gang came a long way to pirate a near empty shuttle.”
Jeremy looked at the deceased Hickle and said, “Perhaps they wanted to kill this pilot specifically.”
“They?” Vilens asked.
Michael replied, “Surely a Martian can know who we mean by ‘they’. Those that control Earth.”
Jeremy said, “The same ones that removed your people from Mars. We know you know about the lie they told to the survivors from Mars, even going so far as to make a registry of different places that your people were supposedly sent to. Those sent to Jupiter with you were the only survivors.”
Vilens shook his head. “How could you know that?”
The two looked at each other and then back to him.
Michael said, “If it is in the Big Sis then it can be known, if you know where to look.”
Jeremy added, “And the Earth removes threats to its power all the time. Small things, before they become big.”
Vilens looked at the dead pilot, “And you think she was killed because she was a small threat.” He reached back and tapped Fiddle to jar him out of the game.
Fiddle peeked under his headset and looked around. Knowing when to stay quiet, he pulled the gear off and took his long black hair down from the two tails, pulling it to form one in the back.
Michael said, “Or she had something that could become a big threat.”
“So, is that something known in the Big Sis? I mean, do you know why she was a threat?” Vilens asked them, hating that he had to do so. He felt slower than the Dandelinits, inferior, and all because he needed a clunky device like the headset or his wristband to access the Big Sis, a ponderous ritual compared to the ease of a brain-comp.
Jeremy said, “We did not seek that information. If we knew, then we would become a threat as well.”
Vilens nodded and considered Hickle’s corpse. “Right, you don’t want to get involved, but I got cause to take risks.” He went to her still smoking body, and noticed a rectangular carry case next to her seat. He dragged her body from the chair to a prone position and searched it. There was little blood from the high heat discharge of the weapon used against her. Opening her coat, he found a small holster on her side with a pistol sized for a smaller hand. Noticing a strange lump on her side under her shirt, he opened a flap in the material and a tiny third arm flopped out. It did not shock him; he had heard of Martian biology changing in strange ways in their caves.
Vilens held up the small appendage for the Dadelinits to see. “Could this be why Earth wanted her dead?”
Jeremy and Michael shrugged at the same time. Jeremy said, “Possibly. We did not pursue that information.”
Michael added, “But thanks for showing us.” The Dandelinits looked at each other, and then sat back in the closest seats.
Vilens searched the rest of Hickle’s body but found only personal items. He turned his attention to the carry case but found no latch to open it or hinges to break. He had seen secure cases like this on Enigma Jupiter. They could only be opened with a brain-comp.
“Will you open this for me?” Vilens asked the Dandelinits.
Jeremy shook his head, “No.”
Michael told him, “We don’t want to know anything about it.”
Jeremy said, “We have been in contact with the pirates, and we have good news.”
Michael finished, “We have negotiated a performance in an open concert venue on Narsinyx in exchange for our freedom. We have told them you are our stagehands.”
Jeremy added, “Although we have no need of such assistance.”
“A concert?” Fiddle sat forward and asked with his customary smile. “What kind of performers are you?”
Michael replied, “We are the Dandelinits. We dispense soothing sounds for the masses.”
“Musicians,” Fiddle declared and beamed a smile at Vilens.
Vilens considered the strange pair, and said, “You lied for us? Why?”
Jeremy answered, “We have no desire to see anyone harmed. We cannot protect you once you are on the asteroid, but we have given you a chance.”
Vilens tucked Hickle’s carry case under his arm and said, “That’s all we need. Thank you.”
The transport bumped slightly and Vilens could hear an airtight seal close around the main entrance. The shuttle was now physically linked with another ship flying in a synchronous path, and the connecting tunnel was large enough to walk through. A moment later the sealed hatch opened, and a short burly man stepped into the shuttle, not even blinking at the two corpses. He had a bright orange mohawk and a bushy goatee of the same color. A shiny, loose-fitting, copper colored, sleeveless jumpsuit covered his squat body, leaving his burly arms exposed. He carried a long, silver, blaster rifle that he did not point at anyone specifically, but his scowl told of his aggressive nature.
The next person that stepped into the shuttle made Vilens’ breathe catch in his throat. She was tall, only a few inches shorter than him, but her skin was dark brown. Her exposed arms were decorated with curving, bright pink tattoos. She had a beautiful oval face, and dreadlock hair that was red as blood, the long locks reaching past her slim shoulders. She wore a sleeveless copper jumpsuit, but hers was tight over her body. Vilens was unable to resist staring at her figure, captured by her feminine presence. The newcomer glanced over the bodies, Fiddle, and him in the same dismissive way before turning her attention to the identical pair.
“The Dandelinits?” she asked, and her wide smile exposed bright white teeth.
Vilens could tell the rest of their conversation occurred through their brain-comps, frustrating him. He waited with Fiddle for a few tense moments until the red-haired woman turned back to him.
“I’m Angela of the Pit Thieves,” she introduced herself as she looked them over, clearly not impressed. “You must be from Mars since you don’t have brain-c’s.”
“Pathetic bastards,” the short, mohawked man said with obvious contempt.
Angela nodded, “Yes, truly pathetic. Well, the Dandelinits have convinced me not to space you, but you burned down Lucky Harry, one of our best infiltrators.” She motioned to the body of the man next to the woman suit without taking her eyes off them. “For that, you owe the Pit Thieves for your lives.”
“Is that your gang on Narsinyx?” Vilens asked. He was used to such organizations on Mars, but none existed on Enigma Jupiter.
Angela let her smile fade as she considered him, “The Pit Thieves is our tribe on Narsinyx, Asteroid City of Sorrow. You work for us until we say your debt is closed.”
“We can work,” Fiddle said with a hopeful smile, drawing Angela’s attention to him.
“How much do we owe?” Vilens asked.
Angela smiled again, but it had none of the mirth that she showed towards the Dandelinits. “As much as we say you do, for as long as we say you do. Got a problem? Tell it to the void, or I can have Morgan burn you down right here.”
The short man pointed the blaster at them. The expression on his surly face had not changed.
“No,” Fiddle said and put himself between the weapon and Vilens. “We can work. You’ll find us profitable.”
Angela grinned, stepped forward and with one smooth motion stroked Fiddle under his chin. “Let me guess, cutie, you’re the brains of this partnership.”
Fiddle blushed and looked down in a way that Vilens had seen him do a thousand times. The training to turn him into a respectable prostitute on Mars had started young, and Fiddle had mastered it long ago, using his talents to make others feel powerful and important. It worked again and with only a glance at Vilens, Angela turned and walked back to stand next to Morgan.
Vilens resisted the urge to let his gaze roam over her curves. He kept his eyes up, trying to predict if these pirates would suddenly attack.
Angela brightened her tone and said to the Dandelinits, “I would be delighted if you two would accompany us back to Narsinyx on our ship.”
Vilens could tell by the hopeful expression that she meant it, and that the invitation did not extend to them.
The Dandelinits exchanged a glance and Jeremy said, “I will go with you.”
Michael said, “I will stay here.”
“Oh,” Angela replied with a small pout, but her smile returned as she held a hand out to Jeremy. “Please, be my guest.”
Jeremy did not take her hand, but he did allow her to put it on his shoulder and guide him to the exit. The three departed, with Morgan leaving last, still pointing the blaster in their direction. The door closed, and after an appropriate amount of time for them to return to their ship, Vilens heard the airtight seal disengage and the connecting tube retract.
Fiddle said to Michael, “Thanks for staying with us. Do you not trust the Pit Thieves?”
Michael replied, “Trust is not the issue. They are treating Jeremy well. We did not want to lose contact with . . . you two.”
With the absence of the asteroid tribals, Vilens noticed the smell of the two dead bodies had begun to fill up the ship. He shook his head, but it did not rid him of the stench.
“How long will it take to reach Narsinyx?” he asked Michael.
“Hours,” he replied and returned to the seat he was using before Lucky Harry started this trouble.
The brothers returned to their seats, and Vilens shifted to move Hickle’s case into his lap.
With a grin Fiddle asked him, “Can we go back to the games?”
Vilens said, “You go ahead. I don’t want to miss anything out here.”
With a shrug he slipped the headset back over his eyes, and pulled his black ponytail to lay on his chest. Vilens sat and wondered about what they would find at this asteroid city. The rest of the trip was quiet with Fiddle occasionally giggling and squirming as he navigated the artificial playing fields. Vilens and Michael said nothing, and the journey was smooth, causing Vilens to drift off to sleep.
Suddenly Michael spoke up and said, “This might interest you. We are approaching Narsinyx. I have asked them to clear the screen so we may watch the approach.”
Coming awake, Vilens sat up in his seat and swiped a hand over his mouth to wipe away drool. He stared at the front wall of the ship as the top half of it shifted into a view of the empty void, glittering points of light showing distant stars. A slight glow on the right edge of the screen came from the not so distant sun, and to the left was the bottom part of the Pit Thieves pirate ship, a dark, angular thing. In the center of the screen was the asteroid Ceres, an irregular floating rock half illuminated by the sun, and jutting from the dark side of it was Narsinyx.
Covered in a protective dome, the city had its own light. The many towers of Narsinyx crowded together to where he could not tell their exact number. The material looked blue to his eyes, and the towers were broader at the base, curving to a large circular structure on top. Many of the tallest buildings were broken, their jagged edges outlined by the void.
“Once Narsinyx was inhabited by over four million people,” Michael said. “They lived on the asteroid and sucked the water from the stone, shipping it all over the solar system. Now there are fewer than two hundred thousand. The exact number is not known.”
“They don’t keep track of births and deaths?” Vilens asked as he turned to look at the strange man. “That seemed an important thing on Mars and Enigma Jupiter.”
Michael replied, “The Big Sis considers Narsinyx abandoned, with zero lifeforms recorded, and that is what it always reports. This part of the asteroid belt has long been depleted of valuable resources, most of them processed at refineries on Narsinyx. There is no reason for anyone respectable to be in this area. No one is supposed to live here, but they do. It is the secret everyone knows about, but no one talks about. There were people abandoned on that rock, and they survived to reach out into the void again. All the ships were taken when the asteroid was officially shut down, but scavengers would be willing to risk a trip for some free parts. If they got into trouble on Ceres, there would be no one to message for help. Once the Nyxians had one ship they used it to take others. Apparently, some of them call themselves the Pit Thieves, and there are more tribes besides that one.”
Vilens shook his head and gazed back at the growing image of Ceres. “How do you know all this about Narsinyx?”
“Jeremy and I used to perform there in the Byzantine Theater before the city was abandoned. The streets were always dark, and the light shows were spectacular. Two months ago, Jeremy and I met a woman on Enigma Jupiter that claimed to be from Narsinyx. Apparently, our performances are still popular there. Her name was Jones Styth, and she seemed genuinely pleased to be in our presence. She repeatedly claimed our fame was the only reason she told us about her home. We looked her up in the Big Sis, and she was registered as a scavenger.”
“Why was she on Enigma Jupiter?”
Michael answered, “Buying water. When Narsinyx was abandoned most of the water was taken, leaving not enough to sustain a larger population. Water is the most valuable resource, and Nyxians like Styth make a profit on the resale. Since water is vital everywhere in the solar system, the Big Sis will only let her buy so much at a time.”
Vilens asked, “How long ago was Narsinyx abandoned?”
“Seventy-eight earth years ago.”
Vilens turned to stare at Michael. His flawless beige skin contrasted against his black suit, hair, and gold goggles. For a moment Vilens saw past the carefully crafted exterior. Unexpected, an image flashed into Vilens’ mind, of an oblong head, tiny eyes, and iris and pupil with many points.
The Martian leaned back in his seat, shocked by what he realized. “You’re not from this solar system, are you?”
Michael jerked his head at him in surprise, and his mouth gaped. “Your perceptions are . . . beyond what is common for your people. Jeremy reckoned you would figure it out, but I . . . doubted. For one hundred three of your earth years no one suspected we were from beyond the reach of your sun.” He paused and composed himself. “What will you do with this information? It would be valuable to the leaders of Earth.”
Vilens shook his head. “You won’t catch me whispering to Earthlings or anyone else. It’s your secret, so I’ll keep it. Everyone is from somewhere. It shouldn’t be a crime to be different.” He glanced down at Fiddle, still smiling under the game headset. Fiddle’s smaller size and gentle nature made him a frequent target for bullies. Vilens had been watching out for him their entire lives after their parents got together.
The image of the asteroid Ceres was close, and the Pit Thieves ship moved down in front of them. Now that Vilens had a clearer view of the pirate ship, he was even less impressed with it. It seemed cobbled together from parts of many vessels, but it moved through the void as easily as the singularly made one he was on.
As they drew closer to Narsinyx, it seemed precisely how Michael described it, an abandoned, empty city. There were no lights other than the outline provided by the still functioning dome, and he could see cracks and holes in the blue stone of the multitude of towers. Yet, when the ships approached the round space dock in the side of the asteroid, under the rim of the dome, the circle opened and allowed them to enter a well-lit docking bay. The square chamber was large enough for both vehicles to easily land. The metal walls were scarred from weapons fire and parts were patched with sheet metal. Bright lights shone on both the vessels as they came to gentle landings, and the viewscreen faded back to the blank inner wall of the shuttle.
Vilens felt his stomach twirl as the artificial gravity of the ships changed to match that of the asteroid. Feeling it too, Fiddle removed the game headset as the ships settled. He could tell his brother was uneasy, and he put a hand on his shoulder to reassure him. Fiddle smiled as he hopped up out of his seat, the game forgotten.
“A new place,” Fiddle said as he grinned. “Remember when we used to get excited about going into Down Town? It seemed so far away, but we’re really far away now, aren’t we?”
Vilens nodded as the door to the ship opened, letting in more light from the dock. “You know how I feel about it, brother. New place, same place. The names and faces change, but the same games get won and lost.”
Without comment Michael stepped over the remains of the formerly lucky Harry and exited the craft.
In a rare moment, Fiddle dropped his guard. He looked Vilens in the eye and said with a lower tone, “The thing that bothers me the most, brother, is that if we die out here no one will care at all. I mean, we don’t even have people to message about us dying, much less give a dung, because they’re all gone, aren’t they? Our family never made it to Neptune or anywhere else. Your behavior just made me realize it. You don’t want to stay on Jupiter, where they could find us, we can’t go back to Mars, and you don’t care about going to Triton.”
Vilens chuckled. “Your timing sucks void, Fiddle. We had the whole damn trip to talk about this and you screwed around on those damn games.”
Fiddle looked down, admonished.
Vilens told him, “But you’re right. It’s just us now. So, first things first.” He handed Hickle’s unopened case to Fiddle, crossed over to her cold body and lifted it onto his shoulder. The smell of her corpse wafted over his face, but he ignored it.
“What are we going to do with that?” Fiddle asked with a grimace.
Vilens leaned closer and whispered. “She had a brain-computer implanted not too long ago. I’m going to see if someone can take hers out and put it in me.”
Fiddle shook his head and looked away. “That’s gross.”
Vilens stared at him, unable to see his brothers reasoning.
Fiddle walked out of the ship first and Vilens followed with his grisly prize. A retractable ramp gave them access to the dock floor, and only others exits seemed to be a line of doors on the far wall.
The space dock was large enough for the ships to rest next to each other. Around the cobbled pirate ship, Angela and Morgan were surrounded by the rest of the Pit Thieves crew, over a dozen other Nyxians. They all watched Vilens and Fiddle descend the ramp, and he looked them over in turn. Some of the tribe looked happy to be there, eager to help break in the new livestock, while some looked disinterested, and others were nervous. Vilens had expected the copper suits to be what everyone in the group wore, but the Pit Thieves garments were as varied as the people. There was no standard skin color, and people were varied to pale like him to darker than Angela. All the tribe was armed with various weapons, single and two-handed blasters. Most were holstered and none were pointed at them. Michael had rejoined Jeremy and the Dandelinits stood off to the side, watching passively.
Angela spoke up, “Pit Thieves, take a good look at these two. They belong to us now, and what they earn belongs to us until I say they’re a part of the tribe.” The nefarious smiles and grins this statement elicited from the gathered Nyxians told Vilens what he needed to know about the situation. He and Fiddle were fodder, earners without respect or protections, and it would take something drastic to change that.
With his familiar gruff tone, Morgan said, “Introduce yourselves, brainless chumps.”
Fiddle waved, but no one returned the nervous gesture. “I’m Sasha Fiddleton, but you can call me Fiddle.”
“My name is Vilens,” he told them, “and I was wondering about the name of your tribe, Pit Thieves. Are you thieves that come from a pit, or do you steal pits?” Silence followed his query.
Angela glanced at the others and said, “I told y’all he was cute.” She held her slim hand out and ordered, “Fiddle, come over here to me.”
With only a glance at Vilens, Fiddle complied, even taking Angela’s offered hand. He still had Hickle’s case hanging from his shoulder, but Vilens did not draw any attention to it. His brother would keep it safe as he could.
Angela put her arm around the smaller man and asked him, “Fiddle, sweetie, would it upset your brother if you spent some time with me?”
Spikes of possessiveness and jealousy raced through Vilens’ mind, but he subdued them to keep his face neutral. He had watched more than one woman he would like to bed walk off with Fiddle, and he told himself this time was no different. Angela would be just another client.
“Um,” Fiddle smiled and twirled his black hair with a finger. “Would it count towards our debt?”
“Oh, no, cutie,” Angela purred at him. “I’m the one that decided to let you live after you finished Lucky Harry, so you lift that skirt anytime I want, free of charge. Now, if anyone else wants some, then you can charge them.” She turned an inquisitive look on Vilens and asked, “What will you be doing while I break in my new favorite?”
Vilens could tell she was goading him, and he decided not to play her game. He smiled and asked, “Do you have a doctor here?” For emphasis he shifted the weight of the body on his shoulder, although Hickle was a slim woman, and he could have carried her for hours.
One of the Pit Thieves, a tall, thin man with lanky brown hair and wearing a bright purple long coat said, “I think your friend is a little beyond a doctor’s help.”
Vilens looked at him and replied, “I’d like a professional’s opinion on that.” It was a catch phrase from Enigma Jupiter where almost everyone was a professional in some subject.
Angela looked at the man in the purple long coat. “Since you spoke up, Zasterbate, you can show him to Trapz.” She said to Vilens, “Trapz is our technical expert, closest thing we have to a ‘doctor’. Sekoya,” a woman with a shaved head and with a subtle gold sheen to her skin, and wearing loose fitting black shirt and leggings, looked at Angela, “show the Dandelinits where they can start setting up for their performance. The rest of you unload the luggage and cut up this transport. Whoever wants to drag Lucky Harry’s corpse down to recycling can have his water. Okay, we’ve all got things to do now,” she gave Fiddle a playful shake before leading him towards the far left door. Morgan followed the pair, still holding his blaster. The rest of the group scattered with gradual purpose.
With a sullen look Zasterbate waved for Vilens to follow him.
“Vilens,” Michael said behind him.
He turned to look at the Dandelinits, still standing in the same place, and Jeremy said, “We’ll see you at the concert.”
Vilens nodded and followed Zasterbate out of the ship dock, through a different door from the one Angela took Fiddle through. The inner corridors were tiled with squares of dark blue stone, and flat panels on the ceiling kept the place well lit. The frames around the doors were single pieces of ornate carved stone, some cracked and chipped. The doors were metal screens that could be pulled closed and secured. Vilens saw other people moving about, but none approached or spoke to them. All seemed peaceful here, despite the treacherous reputation of the place.
“Does the tribe control all this?” Vilens asked as they passed a crossing corridor.
Zasterbate sneered at him with contempt. “Of course. If there was any other tribe here, we’d kill them on sight.”
“How many are in the Pit Thieves?” he asked Zasterbate and shifted the limp weight of the corpse.
His guide glanced at him, “Thousands. Only Angela knows for sure. She keeps a record. We’re never all in the same place at the same time, for safety, but that might change with this concert. Everyone wants to be there.”
“So, the Dandelinits are good musicians?”
Zasterbate looked at him with snide condescension. “They never repeat any of their music. It’s all original pieces for every performance. Every one of their concerts is a unique work of art. I thought Angela was deceiving when she said she got them to agree to put on a show for us. Some of their first performances were here in Narsinyx, but that was a century ago. No one ever thought they would return here.”
They stopped at a door that looked like any other and Zasterbate gave a limp wave at it. “Trapz is inside. Do your thing.” He set off down the corridor again.
Vilens called out to him. “Really, why do you call yourselves the Pit Thieves?”
Without pausing Zasterbate called over his shoulder, “Cause Zero Star Zebras was already taken.”
Shaking his head, Vilens hit the release with a fist, and the door slid open. On the other side was a long rectangular room with metal walls. Tables were set around the room, cluttered with items. On one table the devices looked damaged and burned, and on another they were pristine and shiny. Shelves on the walls over the tables held more clutter. The items seem categorized by condition, but Vilens could not tell their use by looking at them.
In a chair next to one of the tables a man with grey hair and beard, but smooth, tan skin, sat staring at a polygon device with multiple flashing lights rotating around it. He wore a strange suit of brown fur tipped with black, covering him from neck to feet, all of one piece. He glanced at Vilens as he came in with Hickle’s body, cursed and threw the device across the room. The lights on the device stopped flashing before it crashed into the wall and bounced to the floor.
“Dammit!” the seated man exclaimed. “That requires total concentration. Now I’ll have to start over again. Took me three hours to get that far.”
“If you didn’t break it,” Vilens offered as he deposited Hickle’s corpse on one of the tables. “Are you Trapz?”
“Yes, I’m Trapz. It won’t break, it’s a carbon safe,” Trapz remarked and then pointed at the corpse. “What the fuck are you doing with that? Take it down to recycling.”
Vilens gestured at the body. “It’s got a brain-computer in it that was added after she was an adult. Can you take it out and put it in me?”
Trapz stared at him for a moment and then nodded. “You’re one of the Martians that Angela picked up. You must feel like you miss out on a lot without a brain-c.”
Vilens scoffed. “Of course. Everyone looks at me with pity or disgust. I’m not used to that.”
Traps grinned. “Big shot back on Mars, huh? And then you found out you weren’t even swimming in a real pond.” He gestured around. “The rest of the solar system must seem pretty overwhelming for you.”
Vilens pointed at the remains. “That’s why I need you to put her brain-c in me.”
Trapz was shaking his head before Vilens finished. “That’s not the way it works. Every brain-computer is a completely personal device composed of our own genetic material. There’s no way anyone else’s will work for anyone else.”
Vilens studied Trapz for a moment and determined he was being truthful. “Then how do I get one?”
Trapz spread his hands. “The same way everyone gets everything. You trade for it. I have an unused one here, but its far more valuable than that corpse.”
Vilens reached over to Hickle’s body, opened her coat, and pulled her third arm from inside her shirt, making sure Trapz could see it. “You sure about that? I know there’s a bounty on people like this.”
On seeing the extra appendage, Trapz tried to hide his eagerness, but Vilens saw it and knew he had him.
“Poor dear,” Trapz said. “It’s amazing she lasted as long as she did outside those Martian caves.”
“I didn’t know her for long, but she seemed like a good person. Your infiltrator Lucky Harry shot her twice in the back so your tribe could steal her ship,” Vilens told him. “Do we have a trade? Body for brain-comp?”
Trapz tapped on his chin with a finger and then nodded. Behind him a square portion of the wall slid open, and he reached into the secret compartment. He took out a clear plastic oblong item and tossed it to Vilens.
He caught it and held it up to the light. It was soft and long as his finger. Inside was a thick gel, barely shifting as he moved it, with tiny flecks that sparkled in the light.
Trapz explained, “Find a nice, safe place to hole up, swallow that, and in three days you’ll wake up as a real person.”
“Three days?” Vilens repeated, skeptical.
He nodded. “Oh, yes. It takes that long for the device to integrate into your system and build the parts it needs from your body. Hear me on this, make sure you have a safe space because you will be unable to wake up until that brain-c is done making itself. Someone could cut your throat or flip you over and fuck the shit outta you, and you would not wake up.”
Vilens stared at the brain-computer and felt as though he could see his future suspended in the gel. “Thanks, Trapz.”
Trapz waved off his gratitude. “Trade is done. Welcome to the tribe.”
Vilens nodded as he swiped his hand to open the door. “Sorry about the interruption. You can get back to your . . . safe thing.”
Trapz glanced at the polygon in disgust. “Fuck it. I’ll try again next week.”
Vilens turned to go, and Trapz called him back, “Hey, what happened to Lucky Harry?”
He turned back with a blank expression and replied, “I happened.”
Trapz laughed in reply, and Vilens slipped his inert brain-computer into his pocket as he moved back up the corridor. If he was going to have to sleep for three days, he would need to tell Fiddle.
By retracing his steps, he made it back to the space dock, and saw that the Dandelinits were gone. The Pit Thieves were still in the process of dismantling the shuttle. They used precision cutters to separate the pieces, then carried them away on floating dollies. Their work was organized and efficient. Vilens saw Morgan next to the same door where Angela took his brother, and he went over to stand next to him, something he could tell irritated the shorter man.
Vilens asked him, “Have you ever heard of Zero Star Zebras?”
Morgan smirked at him. “The Zero Star Zebras are the largest tribe in Narsinyx. Most vicious too. Don’t go wandering around in ZSZ territory.”
“How would I know where that is?”
Morgan chuckled. “Oh, that’s right, no brain-c. You can’t even download a map. You are going to die so fast. I just hope we’re recording when you take your last step. It could be hilarious.”
Vilens was constantly aware of the inert brain-computer in his pocket. He wished he could take it now, but he had to talk to Fiddle first.
“Is there a reason you’re still standing here?” Morgan asked with a dismissive tone. He still held the two-hand blaster, and it was pointed slightly in Vilens’ direction.
He answered, “I need to talk to my brother.”
Morgan retorted, “You need to be finding a way to start earning for the tribe.”
Vilens nodded. “For that, I need my brother.”
The mohawked man chuckled. “You’re going to have to wait then. Angela likes to cuddle.”
Vilens leaned back against the wall and resigned himself to patience. He tapped at his wristband and found he could still connect to the Big Sis. He looked up information about Narsinyx and skimmed over the history of it that ended with ‘Abandoned and uninhabited. Earth year: 2276’. He scanned through a layout of the place as it was seventy-eight years ago. It frustrated him to not know what could have changed in those decades, along with territories of rival tribes. He found the space dock he was standing in was the same and looked for likely areas where he could sleep in peace. There was no way to tell what he would find until he got there. He set his wristband to recall certain areas to check out later.
The door opened, and Angela came out of the room, wrapped in a dark blue robe with frilled, pink trim. Out of the bodysuit her breasts swayed as she moved, barely contained by the material. Vilens did not stare, recognizing a flex when he saw it. She had one arm still around Fiddle, and Hickle’s case under her other. Fiddle’s black hair hung loose to his shoulders, and his disheveled clothes looked like he had put them on quickly.
When Angela saw Vilens she gave him a broad grin. “Your brother has skills. He’s going to fit in nicely around here. Not so sure about you, though.” She patted Fiddle on the shoulder and gently shooed him away before turning back into the room, case still under her arm. The door closed and Morgan glowered at them, letting them know they should leave.
Vilens led his brother away, looking around to see if anyone was paying attention. No one watched them. He took Fiddle out into the hall, moving toward some of the spots he thought might be safe for him to lie down.
Fiddle rubbed his head at the places where the mind link unit Angela had placed on him had left marks. “Those things always give me a headache.”
“Was she nice?” he asked.
Fiddle nodded and smiled, but Vilens could tell it was forced. “She was fine.” He paused and Vilens did not rush him, knowing he would tell anything important.
Fiddle said, “After we finished, Angela got into my memories. I couldn’t stop her. She wanted to know everything about you, wanted to see all the things I saw you do throughout our lives.”
Vilens nodded. “Did it scare her?”
Fiddle shook his head. “No. She seemed pleased.”
Vilens leaned closer, patted his pocket, and whispered, “I got one. A brain-comp. I’m going to use it as soon as I find a nice place to hole up. I’m going to be out for three days, like really out. Don’t come knocking, cause I won’t be able to answer.”
“Three days?” Fiddle asked with a panicked look. “What am I going to do?”
Vilens spread his hands. “Make friends. Keep your head in one piece. As soon as I get up to the level of these other people, we’ll find one for you too. Then we’ll be set.” He put a hand on Fiddle’s shoulder and gave it a slight squeeze.
Fiddle grabbed his hand and took a breath. “Vilens, she opened the case, the one we got off the dead pilot. Angela opened it and made me go through the contents. Most of it was personal effects, except for these metal slivers. There were these tiny lines across them, but we couldn’t make out what they were. She took them. Said they might be valuable.”
Vilens nodded and stepped away. “First things first, Fiddle. I have to use this brain-comp. Stay safe. I’ll find you when I wake up.” He held out the small wrist blaster that he kept tucked up his sleeve.
Fiddle wrapped him in a tight hug. “Why don’t I stay with you and watch over you? You’re all I have left.”
Vilens returned the embrace. “I can find a good place to hide where no one will bother me. You shouldn’t have to sit tight for three days babysitting me, and you can’t be sneaking in and out. Somebody will follow you, and they might kill us both. Angela seems to like you. Stay close to her.”
Fiddle took the weapon, nodded, and this time had a genuine smile. “Okay. I’ll be fine.”
Checking around to make sure no one was watching him, Vilens left the dock area from a different exit and went down a long corridor lined with jammed and broken doors. There was no light except for his wristband. This hall was the first area on his checklist, close by the space dock. Finally, Vilens found a door he could pry open and slipped inside. The room was empty except for dust covered packing tins. He pulled the door closed as much as he could.
Vilens lay down in the corner, held up the oblong brain computer in the meager light, and stuck it in his mouth. It was harder to swallow than he thought, and he choked for a moment before he felt it burst. A moment of panic flooded through him as he wondered if it would work, and then he was unconscious.
Continued in Part Two: Three Days Without Vilens
By Aaron Ward
Published by Aaron Ward
Copyright 2020 Aaron Ward
Edition, License Notes
This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.
Original Literature 